Shut Your Trap!
by Sasukeluva 4eva
Summary: When I slapped him, I expected him to commit mass murder, starting with yours truly. What I did not anticipate in the least bit was him shoving his tongue down my throat. Please Read & Review!


**a/n: Don't even ask. Not my OTP for DBZ, but it's a fabulous pairing never the less. (Edited: 30th of May, 2013)**

_**Summary:**__ When I slapped him, I expected him to commit mass murder, starting with yours truly. What I did not anticipate in the least bit was him shoving his tongue down my throat._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything in between that belongs to Akira Toriyama. (:**

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**Fandom:** _Dragon Ball Z  
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**Pairing:** Bulma x Vegeta

**Rating:** M for lemony goodness

**Categories:** _**Humour/Romance  
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**Type:** Oneshot

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**S**a_s_**u**k_e_**l**u_v_**a** 4_e_**v**a _p_**r**e_s_**e**n_t_**s**_**;**_

_**Shut Your Trap!**_

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It was no secret that we despised each other. That much was made plainly obvious with every forced interaction we had to endure, due to inexplicable circumstances that indulged too much joviality, and a hospitable personality's whimsy to extend an invitation of home-stay to the arrogant bastard who was the central cause of her grief.

A heavy coil of disgust pooled in my gut as I observed his scowling countenance with bitter eyes. Did this idiot _ever_ smile? Apparently not. Smirks were the only other apparent expression that I have seen flitter across his face, the snide mockery and disdain coupled with its presence never ceasing to make my blood boil.

He was absolutely _INFURIATING_!

No man, with the exception of Yamcha, had ever successfully pissed me off this much before, by merely _being there_.

But this self-centred, conceited, moronic ape of a man, oh-ho! _He_ was doing it in _spades_, and the irritation it stirred made my skin itch and crawl with disgust.

No one should have that kind of sway over my emotions, but this monkey-man apparently does, and that only increased the ire that I felt towards his prone form.

He looked exasperated and bored, having to endure the endless droning of my mother complimenting him on his wonderful figure and dashing good looks.

Ha!

As if he was even the _remotest_ bit attractive, with that stupid receding hairline, frown lines marring his bronzed face into a perpetual grimace, his lack of height and the ridiculous composition of steely, corded muscle that rippled with every breath he took in that _ridiculous_ spandex getup that left nothing to the imagination—REALLY NOT ATTRACTIVE, NOT IN THE LEAST BIT, BULMA.

God, get a hold of yourself!

You aren't a fifteen year old party animal anymore!

He is totally _not_ your type! So quit your pining and loathe the son of a bitch!

As if sensing the intensity of my glare, said man turned his head in order to regard my rigid posture from across the room.

Ugh.

Those stupid (pretty) dark eyes.

Well he did have that aloof gaze going for him, I'd give him that.

He watched me with a bland expression evident on his face; he didn't bother to hide the sneer of derision that settled upon it, or the harsh glare that he threw back at me in response to my own animosity. Well fine then! Two could play at this game!

I stood from my seat, making a jarring approach that caught the attention of my ditsy mother, who looked up at me with a sweet smile, blissfully unaware of my foul temperament as I came to a shuttering halt in front of them.

"Hi sweetie, I didn't see you come in!"

The twang of her accent sat thickly on her tongue, and exited her mouth as an almost pitchy whine that summoned a flinch from both myself, and from the man lounging next to her.

Her shrillness was the only skill she seemed to possess, I thought with a wicked smile in his direction, for it easily clawed its way beneath his "thick" hide, and grated ever so painfully against his frazzled nerves. For once, I was glad for my mama's country drawl.

I was more than used to it (although on the rare occasion, such as now, when it offended even _my _tolerance for volume), but he certainly wasn't.

"I was just talking to Vegeta about how well-groomed he is!"

An involuntary snort left my lips at the blunt comment, and the heat of his unfriendly disposition intensified tenfold.

Bingo. Baited hook, line and sinker.

Now to sit back and watch the fireworks fly.

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He did not like this woman, and her sarcastic way of addressing him. He was the Saiyan prince, mightiest of all the warriors in the universe, and this, this COMMONER, _dared_ to defy his authority? She'd even had the audacity to insult his position even further by forcing him into degrading attire on a regular basis, offensive both in colour and in contrast to his royal sensibilities.

She clearly enjoyed tormenting him, he seethed with a tepid flinch as he burned holes into her skull.

The razor blade smile curving her lips in response to his unnerving glare made him see red.

She was _insufferable!_ Pushy, whiny, bitchy, pigheaded and stubborn, not to mention loudmouthed and highly opinionated. Everything that he absolutely _despised_ in another being, let alone a _woman_, and she embodied them _all_!

Her independence and lack of intimidation in the face of his wrath also scorned his wounded ego, which reared its head in violent protest to her easy dismissal of him and his status as the superior life form. She made a daily mockery out of him, like he was an exhibit in a freak show, and it _infuriated_ him.

Stupid woman!

A shrill exclamation from the blonde bearer of said woman raised his hackles and summoned yet another twitching spasm in his forehead.

Correction: Stupid _women_.

Ugh. This was going to be a _long_ day.

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After an afternoon annoying the _crap_ out of his eminence Prince Chimpanzee, I thought it would be a nice change of pace to chill in my room. I hadn't been sleeping well (at all) lately, and taking a nap sounded like _heaven_.

Stepping through the threshold of the narrow doorway, I allowed the wooden barricade to swing to a quiet close behind me as I made my way over to my bed, legs sluggish and eyelids heavy with fatigue.

Ohhhhh how I'd missed this wonderful contraption of the Gods themselves.

I sunk into the mattress, and the minute my full weight was cushioned atop the plush bed, I was out for the count, oblivious to the imposing figure that lingered a little too long for anyone's liking in the entrance to my chambers.

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When I awoke, it was late. Like, really late. As in, slept all _afternoon plus evening with a little left on the side_ late. But man did I feel good. Arching my back and feeling the delicious pull of all of my sleepy muscles stretching was incredible, I swear. I'd gotten plenty of shut eye, and now I had tons of energy to burn. A smile curved upon my lips.

A night on the town sounded like just what I needed to kick up a sweat.

Throwing the tangled bed sheets off of my legs, I slipped onto the cold floor, shivering slightly as I wandered into the kitchen for a bite to eat. I also have quite the appetite, it seems.

The lights were still on, but the house was eerily empty, devoid of all noise as I sauntered down the long halls of my family's ridiculously oversized house. That was weird.

Mom was always up talking the ear off of anybody who would give her the time of day, whilst dad would be smoking a cigarette and watching the news with the occasional commentary intoning in every now and again.

They were nowhere to be seen.

When I strode into the kitchen, I noticed a slip of paper pinned to the fridge.

It was pink, trimmed with lace and Nekonyan, a popular brand-name mascot that had captured my mother's heart with a single intangible stare while we had been shopping in the city square. Personally I thought it was a hideous waste of money for something so cheap, but the franchise apparently made a killing from poor suckers like my mama.

What a shame. That money could have contributed to something far more practical, like some new heels, or perhaps a dress.

Where did mother get her sense of materialism from?

I'm glad that I didn't inherit _that_ particular trait from her...

I approached the aesthetically displeasing post-it with a weary sigh leaving my parted lips, regarding her eloquent cursive with bland eyes.

_**Bulma honeypie, your papa and I have gone out for the night! Dinner's in the refrigerator! Stay safe, and if you need anything at all, ask Vegeta!**__**  
**__**Kisses,**__**  
**__**Mama xxxx**_

_Really_ mom? Just leave me to die a horrible, lonesome death at the hands of the joy-sucking leech I like to refer to as Narcissus (one of the many less than charming nicknames to refer to the bristly porcupine that occupied one too many of my thoughts lately).

She really played the part of the naive fool a little too well for my liking.

And why _Vegeta?_

What could that good for nothing ass possibly have to offer me?

It wasn't as if he would humour my request to nullify my impeding boredom, should it arise any time soon. And besides which, I'd sooner drop dead than waste my breath talking to that piece of shit.

I rolled my eyes and smiled.

As if I ever would!

Opening the door to the fridge, I bent over; raking through the shelves until my gaze settled upon the packed bentos mama had left me. Oh yummy, California rolls and okonomiyaki crepes! Beautiful, super special awesome mother of my life, how I love thee so!

Removing them from their place on the shelf, I took off the lids and put them in the microwave, setting the timer for seven minutes. I boiled the water in the kettle, making myself busy as I waited for the seconds to pass. A hot cup of black, black coffee with half a teaspoon of sugar sounded simply _divine_, and I couldn't pass the temptation up.

Sifting through the pantry, I located the freshly ground beans, imported and oh so bloody magnificent to the tastebuds, and set the bag on the countertop, reaching up on my tiptoes to take one of the expensive china teacups from the mantelpiece.

When the beep of the heating machine sounded, and my coffee was made, I lounged on the couch, watching some clichéd horror flick while savouring every sip, bite and chew of my midnight meal.

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I can't believe how shit my luck is. Seriously! This is too much!

"Well, well, what do we have here? Little Miss Porker, pigging out like her namesake suggests."

Ugh. I HATE THIS FUCKING MAN.

"Really original. Do you write your own material? Because it sucks ass, Monkey-Boy."

His smirk fell from his face in an instant, replaced with a dark scowl that enhanced the lines in his bronzed complexion. The _nerve_ of this woman!

"And what would a stupid wench like you understand about writing? I have no doubt in my mind that your ditsy empty-headedness has rendered you illiterate. From what I have seen, your intelligence leaves _much_ to be desired."

Ouch. Okay, he was so fucking dead. I was now on my feet, food abandoned on the table as I got in his face, blue eyes buzzing with rage as I withheld the impulse to rip his face off.

"FYI, you had—and I place particular emphasis on the _HAD_ part—a fucking _tail_. Monkeys have _rabies_. Oh how your enemies would have _QUAILED_ at the thought of catching your disease—_stupidity_! It's apparently quite contagious among the aliens of this galaxy. Not to mention that you turned into a giant _GORILLA_ when the full moon was out. Werewolves; chic, cool, classy, the genuine freaking article. But a ginormous chimp without a brain cell to its name? Pathetic!"

I rambled on, incensed by his insults. How _dare_ he question my intelligence?! I have an IQ of over fucking _200_! The bastard obviously hasn't done his research.

"—and another thing! What kind of a name is _VEGETA_? Did your parents forget to add the 'able' to your _vegetable_?"

"As if_ you're_ one to talk! Were _your_ parents on drugs when they bequeathed you with _BLOOMERS_ as your name? And unfashionable ones at that!"

"HA! _Me_, UNFASHIONABLE? This coming from the man in a ridiculous _spandex_ _unitard_! What, did you want to be an Olympic gymnast in your last life? You obviously failed at that, and had to resort to blowing shit up in order to satisfy your inclination to pole vault on command!"

"Your insolence is almost as disgusting as your face!"

"OH HOW VERY MATURE, SPACE-MONKEY. Your home planet must have been a _terribly_ desolate place! I can _tell _that _nobody_ had any concept of _chic_!"

"INSOLENT SERVANT WOMAN, SHUT YOUR TRAP!"

"MAKE ME, YOU EGOTISTICAL, SOCIALLY RETARDED, STUCK UP FUCKING JERRRRRK—!"

"_VAPID WHORE_!"

_'Smack!'_

Silence.

Oh. Oh no. That... Was a very. _VERY_. Bad idea.

_'Did I... Just slap one of the strongest warriors in the universe in the face? Without batting an eyelash?'_

FUCK.

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Vegeta's head was off to the side, his face darkened with the stains of his fury as his cheek turned a brilliant red from the burn her hit had left upon it.

This mortal had _DARED_ lift a hand against him and his authority?

She would _pay_.

Of that, he was _very_ certain.

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I felt the panic rise within my chest.

This was _not_ good.

How could I have allowed it to escalate to this extent, that I would actually have the audacity to smack the _shit_ out of his ruggedly not-handsome face (cough)?

He looked _LIVID_.

I swallowed the bile that had nearly choked its way out of my mouth, looking into his face with anxiety riddling my cerulean depths.

When I slapped him, I expected him to commit mass murder, starting with yours truly.

What I did not anticipate in the least bit was him shoving his tongue down my throat.

What. _The fuck_?

VEGETA, UNHOLY PRINCE OF ALL THE DEAD CHIMPANZEES, WAS _FRENCHING_ ME, _**ME**_, BULMA BRIEF?!

What has the world come to?!

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My clothes were torn to shreds, littered all over my bedroom floor. His had been discarded with equal fervour much earlier, and now here we were, a messy tangle of limbs between the sheets that I had earlier dumped at the end of the mattress.

His mouth, although foul and profane, was working wonders on my skin.

Hot tingles shot up my spine in response to his heated ministrations.

His calloused palms cupped every sliver of naked flesh he could get a hold of, thumbs coming up to tease my nipples to full erectness, rubbing them raw with the frenzied pace of his touches.

I wriggled my hips, spreading my legs without him having to pry them apart so that he could get comfortable between my thighs, my hands knotting themselves in the inky tangles of rebellious hair that covered the crown of his head so thickly.

He wrapped his lips around the closest twitching peak, and I swore I could see the stars through the solid roof that hung over our heads.

The hand that had been tugging on my remaining nipple slid up my body, winding into my choppy locks before he yanked my head back, forcing me to arch up into the solid masses of muscle that made up the bulk of his body weight.

Prying his lips away from the painfully sensitive nub, Vegeta trailed his tongue over the pert little ball, teasing his way up my bust, collarbone, neck and chin before he sealed his mouth over mine in a kiss so passionate that I nearly melted into nothingness.

This man knew his stuff!

A lip-lock of epic proportions ensued. Teeth gnashed, gums clashed, tongues tied, lips puckered.

The intensity was through the roof.

His other hand slipped between my legs, wasting little time in checking to see if I was ready for him.

Not quite, it seemed, for he plunged two fingers into the depths of my convulsing walls, not stopping at my pained gasp as he made short work of getting me wet, thumb pressing rough circles over my clitoris until I was rocking my hips in time with his deep finger-fucking.

My brain was incoherent, thoughts escaping me before I could grasp at them as I rode upon the waves of my sudden orgasm.

It had hit me without any warning, other than the shrinking of my clit under the pressure of both his thumb, and the aching burn I had come to associate with heated climax.

And he had me come so quickly! Yamcha had had to _work_ for that privilege.

This insufferable man had me there in _seconds_.

I moaned out his name, and his terse command for me to _'shut my mouth' _reinforced the delicious tingling at the apex of my thighs.

I had to have him. The fact that he was a conceited, self-indulgent, stupid fucking jackass was irrelevant right now.

What _was_ relevant was his throbbing cock, which needed to be inside me, _now_.

He obliged my internal command, hefting my legs over his waist before he slammed into me with no pause, thrusting hard and fast and tapping against all the right spots. The ridges of his penis rubbed in an indulgent manner against the velvety, slippery heat that held it in place, and both our groans were synchronised.

I was animalistic in my approach, lips suctioned around his pulse point as I pushed back against his forceful intrusion, my hips tilting and fluctuating in order to accommodate for his girth, which stretched me in an achingly wonderful way. I marvelled at the sight of his tight gluts flexing as he barrelled into my moist sex, and my eyes rolled into the back of my skull at how deeply he was sheathing his length within me.

My fingers clawed at the corded muscles of his scapula, drawing blood from welts and scratches the impressions left behind as I tried to find purchase on reality; the pleasure was incredible. I felt like I was drowning in an ocean of pure sensation, and this man was the cause of it.

With every plunge of his member into my rapidly tightening walls, I felt myself coming closer to ecstasy unmatched, and I clung to him desperately.

He was the only foothold I had to the grounded world around me, and I wanted his endless density to support my descent into bliss. And he did just that, cradling my frame against his as I shuddered violently in orgasmic rapture around him, sucking him into the very depths of my being as I became lost in the echo of my piercing scream.

He ground out a strangled groan, its gravelly baritone reverberating in the empty room as he too found completion with a final, brokenly discordant jerk of his hips into my taut, rapidly clenching walls, the heat of his seed filling my womb to the very brim until it felt as if it would overflow when he unsheathed himself from me.

A satisfied sigh left his lips, and he melted into the mattress alongside me, his weight eerily _'right'_ as he made himself comfortable, eyes closed and lips parted to catch the oxygen he had neglected to inhale in the midst of our fucking.

I shifted so that I was lying on my side, watching him intently while eyeing the angry red hand mark that had flourished so beautifully against his darkened skin. I was surprisingly glad that I had been the one to put it there, especially since _this_ had been the result.

Nope. He hadn't killed me. Instead, I had gotten something far more pleasant in reciprocation to my violence.

Maybe he thought being rough would be punishment enough. Sorry to disappoint honey. I like it that way the best. I nearly giggled at the wanton thought, but managed to contain myself for fear of potentially aggravating him again, merely studying his features instead.

Okay.

He was kind of really pretty.

In a manly, rugged kind of way.

There was nothing in the remotest bit 'girly' about him. His face alone was all the evidence you needed.

But his nudity said it all. He was _all_ man. Especially in _that_ department. Oh baby.

_Very_ nice to look at (cough).

Not that I would ever tell him that.

His ugly (pretty) mug will never know that I find him attractive. VERY ATTRACTIVE, OH GOD. WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME, MY OVARIES CANNOT TAKE ANYMORE OF THE CONTRADICTION!

First I hated him, now I'm kind of lusting after him.

Ugh.

"Does it hurt?" I asked tentatively, brushing my fingertips over the swollen skin (damn I hit him hard; _you go girl! Spank him into submission!_), only to have him slap the offending appendage away.

"_Don't_ touch me!"

I smiled. Well at least _that_ part of his stuffy personality hadn't changed any.

I sighed in exasperation, rolling away from him and onto my stomach, yabbering away all the while just to get under his skin.

"Well you may be a tepid codfish with the face and personality of an ill-mannered pit bull, but _god_ do you know how to please a woman. I mean seriously, Yamcha had no concept of foreplay _at all_. It was like kissing a brick wall sometimes, y'know? No receptiveness whatsoever! And honestly, I don't think I've ever—"

"For the love of _god_, SHUT UP WOMAN."

His weight settled down on top of me, and his teeth bit into the flesh of my bared shoulder in a display of primal lust so carnal that I felt that all too familiar kindling forming in the pit of my stomach. A wicked smile of different origins than normal lifted the corners of my lips, baring my teeth to the pillow that I would soon be gnawing on for dear life as the pleasure took hold once more.

I had been meaning to burn off some steam, and he was the perfect outlet for my accumulated frustrations.

No.

Maybe Monkey-Boy wasn't so bad after all.

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We still argue like no tomorrow, don't get me wrong.

The bickering is endless.

Sometimes it's a complete turnoff.

But god is the makeup sex worth the hassle.

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There was a similar situation as the one I described earlier, months after our love-hate-fuck buddy relationship began.

Mama was talking his ear off, he was tuning her out, and I had come into the room fully aware of the implications.

"Hi sweetie! I didn't see you come in! I was just talking to Vegeta about—"

"How well-groomed he is?" I supplied helpfully, turning mischievous eyes to the now smirking man sitting alongside my mother.

Our gazes connected, my focus resting solely on him, even while mama babbled on.

"—wouldn't you agree?"

"Hm?" I hummed softly, as a means of asking her to repeat her question.

"I said, _'He truly is quite the specimen, wouldn't you agree?'_"

I tilted my head, looking at Vegeta askance as I pondered my response.

A sweet smile, laced with devious intent, tilted at my lips, and I held his stare with one of my own as I replied.

"Yeah. He really is something else..." I intoned with a suggestive glance in his direction, my eyes dancing with mirth as his darkened with lust.

With that, I sauntered out of the room, smug smirk (goddamn he had rubbed off on me!) on my face as I heard the telltale signs of soft footfalls trailing my every move.

I stepped into my room, pausing mid-stride as a thought hit me.

"Eager are we?"

I smiled as I looked over my shoulder, seeing him standing there in all of his 5"5 glory eyeballing me like no tomorrow.

He smirked back at my cheeky taunting.

_She will regret smart-mouthing me_, he thought with a decisive leer in my direction, the door falling to a silent close as his lips parted to speak, the gritty tone of that all too familiar phrase summoning delicious little butterflies in my tummy.

_"Shut your trap, woman."_

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~Owarimashita**

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_**Ending Remarks:**_ _Well.__  
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_That was fun.__  
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_Drop me a review.__  
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_They inspire me.__  
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_Ciao. (:__  
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~**R**i_n_

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